


Fraternities, Fist Fights, and Falling in Love

by Anger_and_Apathy



Series: Mistaken Skittles College AU [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, College, Crack, F/F, F/M, Fraternities & Sororities, M/M, Mistaken Skittles, Pining Derek Hale, Polyamory, Recreational Drug Use, Shot-gunning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 01:46:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1964280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anger_and_Apathy/pseuds/Anger_and_Apathy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraternity AU where Derek thinks Scott and Stiles are dating because they’re always like, singing Taylor Swift songs to each other and packing each other lunch. And Derek keeps hearing people complaining about the two of them, and getting really defensive because like, c’mon, no homophobia in the house! And then Lydia (leader of the Scott and Stiles need to Break it Apart Squad ) totally makes out with some chick at a party, and the resulting fight leads Derek to discover that Scott and Stiles are just sickeningly co-dependent and not, in fact, fucking.</p><p>Meanwhile, Scott is the best bro of all bros because he totally wing-manned Stiles so hard when they joined that fraternity together. Now if only steamy senior Derek would notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Week One

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the real-life quote: "Mom, we're Scott and Stiles not Stiles and Derek!" My deepest apologies.

            The first time Derek sees Stiles, he has his hands down Scott’s pants. Derek’s reaction, of course, is to turn bright red, do an about face, and march out of the room… only seconds before Stiles yanks his hand out of Scott’s boxers, and Scott gives a happy grin and says,

            “Thanks dude, that tag has been bothering me all day.”

            Stiles makes a face at him.

            “Whatever,” he mutters, “I’m just glad no one saw. They’d think I have horrible taste.”

Derek might also catch a glimpse of the extremely undignified wrestling that follows, and may mistake it for something else entirely. 

. . . .

            Stile’s sees Derek for the first time two days later. They’re at a random house party (because as the youngest lacrosse captain in the history of basically ever, Scott is suddenly the hottest girl at the prom, and is subsequently being courted by all the best fraternities. Stiles is a packaged deal). Stiles turns to ask Scott a question and nearly chokes on his drink because holy sweet God in heaven,

            “Who the _hell_ is that?!”

            “ _Dude_ ,” Scott moans, wiping beer off of his face and yeah, okay, maybe Stiles did spit a little bit, “Him? That’s Derek Hale- you know, Laura’s brother?”

            “The spawn of Satan has a brother?”

            Scott stops inspecting his t-shirt for damages, and gets this hurt puppy look on his face,

            “Laura is not the spawn of Satan,” he says, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

            “Sure,” he mutters, “She’s nice to _you_ ,” Scott opens his mouth to object, but Stiles waves him off, “Dude, whatever, I don’t even care- just, how? I didn't even know she had a brother. I mean, he’s never even been to our place?”

            Scott sips his drink.

            “They don’t really get along.”

            Across the room, Derek’s bicep flexes as he pounds a shot, and Stiles turns to Scott with a gleam in his eyes.

            “We have to pledge,” he says, “ _Now._ ”

. . . .

            Three days later, they’re introduced.

            “ _Scott_ ,” Stiles is riffling through his bag, one hand paused on the doorknob, “We’re going to be late for my dad, man, you _know_ he hates that!”

            “Just a sec!” Scott yells, head buried deep in one of the cabinets, “I have to find that casserole dish he lent us!”

            “Ugh!” Stiles stamps his feet, punctuating each word with a sharp exhale, “Come. On.”

            There’s a clattering sound, and then Scott is pulling himself out from the cabinet, hair sticking up from one side of his head,

            “You don’t understand,” he stresses, wide-eyed and tousle-haired, “They were the. Best. Nachos. I need them Stiles, don’t mess with this!”

            Stiles gives a dramatic eye roll,

“C’mon dude,” he sighs, “he’ll make you more even if you don’t return he dish. Let’s go.”

            Scott shakes his head,

            “I can’t take that chance,” he says solemnly, and dives back into the cabinet.

            Stiles heaves a huge sigh.

            “Fine,” he says, “Fine, I’ll wait outside, okay? Just don’t fuck everything up in there- I just organized that shit.”

            And that’s the moment when he pulls open the door and almost falls into the ridiculously muscular chest of Derek Freaking Hale.

            “Oh,” he says, righting himself and trying not to stare too obviously, “Um, hi?”

            “Hi.” Derek growls, “I have a package for Laura. It came to my house.”

            Stiles looks at the package. It has **Laura** scribbled across it in large black letters, and nothing else. Stiles blinks,

            “Uh, okay?” he says, “Well, she’s not here right now but you could come inside and wait for her or-”

            “Stiles!” Scott yells, appearing in the doorway beside him, with the casserole dish held triumphantly over his head, “I found your dad’s dish! Now we can give it to him at dinner.”

            Derek gets a pinched look on his face.

            “Nevermind,” he says, and thrusts the package at Stiles before leaping off of the porch and practically sprinting away. Stiles sags against the doorframe with an elaborate sigh,

            “Man,” he says.

            Scott is riffling through the package.

            “Uh, this is full of packing peanuts?” he says, “And there’s no address. How did it even get to Derek’s house anyway?”

            “I don’t know” Stiles gives the package a longing look, “But I hope there’s more!”


	2. Week Two

            “Oh my god,” Lydia says, “Can’t they give it a break?”

            Derek looks up from his essay, over to where Scott and Stiles are clutching drunkenly at each other’s arms and slurring sweet nothings into each other’s ears in the corner of the empty living room. Jackson is meticulously placing bowls of chips and dip in strategic corners, and keeps turning around and tripping over them.

            “I know,” Allison says, and Derek frowns at her. At this point, he expects this from Lydia, but Allison? Allison is one of the good ones. And she’s totally friends with Scott and Stiles so what the hell? “It’s not even 9pm. This is ridiculous.”

            “Ugh,” Lydia gives a distasteful grimace, “I know, right? No one is even here yet. At this rate they’re going to be a mess by the time everything picks up. It’s so bad for our image.”

            “Well,” Derek says angrily, “If you don’t like it you can leave. This isn’t even your party!” and stalks into the kitchen, nearly running over a startled Isaac.

            Lydia looks after Derek and sighs,

            “Poor pet,” she says, “That group project must be really stressing him out.”

            Allison is wrinkling her nose,

            “Well, I would leave,” she says, “But that seems so unsupportive, you know? I mean this is Scotts first party as team captain, and he’s just pledged to the frat…” She gives a little wave across the room and Scott blows her an enthusiastic kiss and tries to grab the keg from Danny and Ethan. Allison sighs, “No, baby,” she calls, “Lift with your legs not your- never mind. I’m coming.”

. . . .

            “Seriously,” Stiles moans, staring over the heads of the crowd at the spot where Derek is leaning casually against the counter, talking to a few of the newest pledges. He’s wearing a tight black v-neck with the sleeves cuffed, and Stiles can feel his knees go weak, “How is he that hot? He shouldn’t be that hot!”

            Scott stares up at him, eyes kind of unfocused, 

            “You’re hooot,” he slurs, reaching over to run his fingers through Stile’s hair, “Like a stove or a, another hot thing.”

            Stiles bats his hand away,

            “Am I swooning?” he asks anxiously, patting his face, “I feel like I’m swooning. Oh my god he’s gonna know. What if he knows?”

            Scott looks down into his drink.

            “Thought you wanted him to know.”

            Stiles cuts Scott an exasperated glance,

            “In a cool way,” he says, “In a sexy, confident cool way. Not in a me way. I need to be cool Stiles,” he turns to Allison, “Pass me the vodka.”

            Allison gives him a sympathetic little frown,

            “Vodka makes you cry sweetie,” she says gently, “Are you sure you want to go down that road?”

            Stiles rolls his eyes,

            “Please,” he says, “Only like half of the time. I need to take those odds, Allison!”

            Scott is looking up at him again,

            “Put your hand up during single ladies,” he tells Stiles somberly, “It’s a universal sign.”

            Stiles and Allison exchange a dubious glance over Scott’s head, while Scott takes an oblivious slurp of his drink. Allison sighs,

            “It’s a good thing you’re so pretty, baby,” she says, and Scott dimples at her.

            “ _You’re_ pretty!” he says happily, turns to Stiles, “And you’re pretty!”

            Allison rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing as she disentangles herself from Scott’s octopus arms,

            “I’m going to go over there,” she says, “And be sober. Look, doesn’t it look nice? There are quiet conversations and early bedtimes and no hang-overs in the morning.”

            “Oh my god,” Scott smacks her arm, “I just remembered- _there’s a cute boy here!_ ”

            Stiles pouts,

            “I’m a cute boy,” he says. Scott shushes him,

            “Not you,” he says, turning back to Allison, “The one from your econ class last quarter? With the-” he twirls a hand over his head, “curls? And the, the scarves.”

            “Oh,” Allison says interestedly, “I remember him!”

            Scott beams at her,

            “He’s _here,_ ” he breaths, “I think he just pledged!”

            Stiles snorts, and returns his attention to his cup,

            “Please,” he scoffs, “This frat will accept anybody.”

            Allison shushes him, then reaches over and kisses Scott’s cheek.

            “I’ll see what I can do,” she says, and sashays off with a final wink. Scott watches her go and sighs happily,

            “Dude,” he says, “I have the best girlfriend.”

            “No,” Stiles moans, “Scott, no. You don’t get to have a cute girlfriend _and_ a cute boyfriend. Not yet. I’m not ready for you to be twice as romantically successful as I am.”

            Scott boops his nose,

            “You are perfect.” He says, “You are the perfect and special and you don’t need a boyfriend to affirm that.”

            Stiles takes a pull of vodka, and gives Scott a watery smile,

            “Thanks, man,” he says. Scott nods at him seriously,

            “We’re brothers now,” he says. The music changes suddenly, and a huge, drunk grin spreads across Scott’s face, _“Dude,_ ” he breathes, “It’s our song!”

. . . .

            Derek is just putting the finishing touches on his conclusion when Lydia heaves an exasperated sigh, “This is embarrassing,” she says, and he glances up to see her winding a strand of long red hair around one finger delicate, “Nobody is going to want to pledge.”

            It’s just after midnight and the party is in full swing. The house is crowded with happy, progressively drunker (and progressively louder) students, and there’s rhythmic pop music blasting from Jackson’s intricate speaker system. Derek tries not to look too closely at the spot where Stiles and Scott are singing happily along to the music, but they may be gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes. Maybe. It’s a possibility. Focus, Hale.

           Derek turns resolutely towards Lydia, frown already in place,

           “Why do you care who pledges?” He growls. In the background, Scott is serenading Stiles to the tune of Taylor Swift’s _Fearless._

           “Because,” Lydia pops her gum, “Alpha house is historically the most popular fraternity on campus, and if you lose members then we’ll have to team up with Beta or Omega for events, and I’m _not_ working with Peter again.”

            Allison taps a finger against her lips,

            “Can anyone prove that Peter is a student?” she asks, “I mean, all he seems to do is throw sketchy keggers and sell the answers to the toughest midterms.”

            Lydia rolls her eyes,

           “Don’t forget his unfortunate obsession with hazing other people’s pledges,” she points out, “I honestly don’t understand why they still let him onto campus.”

           “Yeah,” Isaac echoes a little breathlessly. He’s staring at Allison with a slightly dazed expression on his face.

            Allison twirls a lock of hair around her finger, looking over at Isaac with interest. Isaac clears his throat, glancing down into his cup.

            “Uh,” he asks, swirling his drink, “wasn’t Peter in Alpha Frat for a while?”

            Derek blanches ,

            “We don’t talk about that!” He hisses. Behind, them, Scott is hollering,

_“And I don't know how it gets better than this, You take my hand and drag me head first-”_

            Isaac frowns,

            “No, but didn’t he-”

_“-Fearless!”_

_“_ Like, try to make a run for president just last year?”

            Allison nods, tilting her head a little towards Isaac,

            “He sabotaged the voting,” she tells him, “It was a big deal.”

            Behind her, Scott is clambering awkwardly up onto the coffee table, swaying exuberantly to the music. Stiles is laughing helpless beside him, clutching at his beer with his head thrown back. Scott reaches down for him, and then they’re both rocking together on the table, clutching at each other’s waists and shrieking along to the music,

_“And I don't know why but with you I'd dance in a storm in my best dress  
Fearless!”_

             “That’s it,” Lydia says, “I’m going to murder the DJ,” and she swans off into the crowd. Derek stares stoically at the wall.

. . . .

            “Why?”

            “Stiles, just go talk to him.”

            “Whyyyyy?”

            “Stiles, buddy, I love you. Go talk to him.”

            “But he’s so hooooot.”

            “Stiles!”

. . . .

           An hour later, the party is getting a little out of control. Somehow, word got out to the rest of campus, and the house is crowded with unfamiliar faces and raucous laughter. Thankfully, Lydia has disappeared from Derek’s side, and is busy dancing with two gorgeous sorority girls. Allison has stripped down to a lacey pink crop top, and has Isaac wrapped around her finger, leaning into him as he laughs at something she’s just said. Derek narrowly avoids being hit by a wayward football, snags his beer from the cluttered counter, and ducks out of the kitchen. The hallway feels like an escape. The sound of a throat clearing behind him makes him turn.

            “So,” Stiles is leaning against the wall, head tilted and hips cocked. His eyes are heavy-lidded and half-closed and Derek feels his mouth go dry, “I hear you’re kind of a big deal around here.”

            Derek swallows hard,

            “I’m the president,” he says gruffly.

            Stiles smiles, slow and sinful.

           “So,” He says, pushing off the wall, “You’re kind of in charge of me, huh?”

            Derek glances over towards the living room, where Scott is chatting amiably with Boyd and Jackson.

            “Well,” he says, clearing his throat, “We try to maintain a democratic style of leadership at Alpha house. You know, include everyone’s voices.”

            Stile’s grin widens,

            “That’s very admirable of you,” he says, takes a drink of whatever’s in his cup, “Told Scott you were admirable. Still, you could tell me what to do.” He licks his lips.

            “Drink more water!” Derek orders, and flees.

. . . .

             Erika finds him huddled in the bathroom a few minutes later, and pulls him off to the dance floor with a lazy,

             “C’mon, Captain! You can’t hide forever!”

              Derek straightens his collar, tries to ignore her knowing smirk.

              “I’m not hiding,” he grumbles.

              Erica winks one smoky eye at him,

              “Sure you’re not, honey” She says, and lifts his hands over her head, “C’mon, dance with me!”

              Derek tries to frown, he really does, but she’s just so irresistible smirking up at him, and he rolls his eyes and gives in.

              “Fine,” he says, starting to shake his hips, “But I’m telling Boyd!”

               Erika tosses her hair,

               “Whatever,” she says. Derek gets lost in the music for a full minute, moving his hips and throwing back his head. He loves this. He really does. Then Erika’s voice comes from somewhere to his right, calling out, “Stiles!” and Derek feels his face drain,

               “Don’t!” he hisses, but it’s too late. Stiles has appeared from somewhere in the crowd, hair tousled and cheeks flushed.

               “Oh my god I love this song!” Stiles shouts to them, and starts enthusiastically grinding on Scott. Derek quickly de-tangles himself from Erica, and goes to re-fill the chip bowls.

. . . .

            Stiles heaves a dejected sigh as Derek disappears from the dance floor.  

            “I don’t get it,” he mutters plaintively, leaning into Scott so he can be heard above the pounding base line, “I tried! I was sexy and sultry and made it perfectly clear that I would not be opposed to immediate nudity,” he cranes his head to look after Derek, “… or maybe I was a total loser. Idk.”

            Scott frowns up at him, eyes kind of unfocused,

            “You _are_ sexy!” he insists stubbornly, “Maybe he was overwhelmed by your beauty!”

            Stiles sighs, runs a hand back through his hair as he moves his hips to the music,

            “I don’t know man,” he says, “Maybe it’s just not meant to be…”

            Scott gets a determined glint in his eyes,

             “I’ll go do recon,” he announces, and vanishes into the mass of swaying bodies with a drunken wink.

. . . .

              Derek tries to hide out in the kitchen as long as he can, but there’s only so much time he can pretend to dedicate to party nourishment. He pushes a glass of water into the hands of a stumbling freshman, comes around the corner and freezes. Scott has himself braced against the wall, one hand bracketing Isaac’s head. Isaac is grinning lazily down at him, chin tilted down and lips curved up. Scott’s got the end of his scarf in his other hand, and he’s toying with it as he talks, twirling the fabric through his fingers. Isaac laughs at something Scott said, and Scott leans up and kisses him, dropping he scarf and wrapping his hand around Isaac’s neck. Isaac leans down into him, humming happily.

               There’s a crashing sound behind him. Derek turns around and feels his heart drop. Stiles is standing in the doorway, shattered bear bottle at his feet.

              “I’m not ready for this!” he wails, and runs out of the room.

              “Stiles!” Scott is detangling himself from Isaac, “Wait, hang on!”

               Isaac stares wide-eyed at Derek for a second, before he rubs the back of his head awkwardly, and disappears back into the crowd. Derek takes a moment to sag against the wall and take a few shaky deep breaths. Well. That answers a few questions.

. . . .

               “-And he has perfect hair and perfect ears and he’s never going to love me if I can’t do a keg stand!” Stiles cries, voice slightly muffled by the porcelain of the toilet.

              Scott pets his hair,

              “You can do a wonderful keg stand,” he promises, “Don’t let anyone tell you differently!”

               Stiles sniffles, withdrawing his head slightly to give Scott a watery smile.

               “Sorry I blocked your cock, man,” he says seriously, “Isaac seems to really like you… I mean, he’s pretentious as hell, but he seems to really like you.”

                Scott shakes his head, rubbing soothingly at Stile’s back,

               “You need me,” he counters, “Besides, I tagged Allison in, everything’s good.”

               “Good,” Stile’s hiccups, “Good,

                Scott grins,

               “A-plus tongue action, dude,” he says, “I’m not kidding.”

                Stiles pulls a face,

                “Ewwww…” he complains.

                 Scott shrugs happily,

                “You’re ew,” he says easily, “I got a cute boy’s phone number!”

                Stiles vomits pitifully.

                 Ten minutes later, their night ends with an impromptu trip to the emergency room. Stiles cannot, in fact, do a keg stand.


	3. Week Three

        Derek manages to avoid Stiles for an entire week after the party. He catches sight of him a couple of times, lounging around the house with Scott, or bickering lazily with Laura, but Derek keeps his distance. No matter what Cora says, he absolutely does not have wounds to lick. So what if Scott and Stiles disappeared together in the middle of the party? Who cares if they’re back to throwing doting looks at each other or dominating the living room with cheesy movie marathons and candlelit backrubs? It’s good for moral that they’ve made up. And it really seems like they have. The last time Derek caught sight of them, Stile’s had had his head pillowed in Scott’s lap while he read his chemistry textbook, and Scott had been alternating between frowning down at his math homework and feeding Stiles grapes. Everything’s back to normal and he’s fine, okay? Fine.

      He’s stocking up on groceries when his luck finally changes. Derek’s leaning over the produce display, trying to decide between apples and pears when a familiar voice sounds from behind him, and he turns around to see Stiles, standing in the isle in a wrinkled flannel and ripped skinny jeans.

“Hey big guy,” he says easily, “Haven’t seen you around lately.”

Derek is caught with his arms full of produce, and he shoves everything into the cart with an awkward shrug,

“I’ve been around,” he says, “Been busy, you know.”

“Don’t I, though?” Stiles leans causally against his cart, favoring Derek with a sly smile, “What have you been up to?” Derek feels his entire mind go completely blank,

“Uh,” he says, “School stuff. Friends…. Things,” and oh, dear god, can’t the ground just swallow him now. Stile’s smile has become somewhat fixed.

“That’s, uh, good?” He says, running a hand back through his hair. A stiff sort of silence falls between them, then Stile’s speaks abruptly. “Look,” he says quickly, “I’m sorry about the party. I just get kind of stupid when I drink, and Allison warned me about the vodka. It’s just that Scott gets competitive and then I get competitive and then someone gets hurt,” he holds up his bandaged wrist as if to demonstrate Derek’s broken heart.

Derek fights to keep a straight face, the least he can do is to appear unfazed.

“Its fine,” Derek grunts, because of course Stile’s wasn’t really interested in him. He’d just caught Scott with Isaac, and Derek had been there and it all makes sense, really, “Really,” he says, “Don’t worry about it. Totally forgotten.” and holy sweet Jesus Stiles smiles like the freakin’ sun.

“Cool,” He says, “Cool, because, uh, I’d like to be friends? I really didn’t mean to make such a giant ass of myself,” he laughs, a little awkward, and the sight of it is so painfully endearing that Derek almost forgets to be heart-broken for a second, “It just comes with the territory.”

“We can be friends,” Derek hears himself saying, and blushes to the roots of his hair. To save face, he turns around and starts shoving things into his cart at random. Stiles trails after him, skipping a little as they work their way down the aisle. Derek pauses in the frozen food section, and throws a glance back over at him, “I should warn you,” he says seriously, “I’m not very good at it.” Stiles is looking at him in confusion, so he elaborates, “The friendship thing, it’s not really my… main forte.”

“Pffffft,” Stiles scoffs, leaning over him to plunk a bag of frozen corndogs into Derek’s cart, “you’re just saying that so I don’t feel like a total loser. Trust me, dude, you saw the keg thing.” Derek tilts his head, confused, but Stiles just brushes him off with a charming grimace, “It was bad,” he says, “carnage. If either of us is a shitty friend, it’s me.”

“…okay,” Derek isn’t really sure he follows, but Stiles is smiling again and it’s almost the weekend and he just can’t bring himself to dwell on the past. Much.

“So,” Stiles looks at him sidelong, “What are your plans for the weekend? I was thinking we could like, grab a beer or catch the game… you know,” he grabs randomly for something and comes up with a bag of frozen peas. Derek likes peas. “To celebrate our new found friendship.”

“Sure,” Derek tells him, and Stiles happily tosses the peas into his cart, “I think the house is having a movie night Friday.

“Perfect!” Stiles grins, “What are we watching?”

Derek scratches the back of his head,

“Uh,” he says, “I think the Lord of the Rings Trilogy? Boyd insisted. He gets kind of weirdly intense about Tolkein...”

“Oh my god,” Stile’s face has lights up, “Those are Scott’s favorite! He has this theory that if you take the map of middle earth and juxtapose it with…” he starts gesturing wildly with his hands, and Derek kind of loses track of what he’s saying. Stile’s eyes are wide and luminous and Derek wonders wistfully what it would be like to be the focus of that attention, what he could ever do to deserve this kind of reverence, “… And that’s why Mellissa never buys full size baguettes or any kind of candle,” Stiles finishes with an elaborate flourish, “Though I swear it absolutely wasn’t a fire hazard,” he pauses, then reflects, “Well, except the fireworks. Fireworks might have been kind of over the top.”

Derek blinks at him,

“…. Right.” He says. Stiles beams.

“Okay!” they’ve reached the end of the last isle, and Derek’s cart is as full as he can really afford at this point, “Are you ready to check out?”

Derek points at Stile’s empty cart,

“You didn’t get anything,” he says, and the tips of Stile’s ears go red. “Uh,” he says, “No I just remembered I’m allergic to like, everything.”

“Oh,” says Derek blankly, “Bummer,” he gestures vaguely towards the register, “Do you want to-”

“Yeah!” Stiles interjects, stowing his cart exuberantly beside a juice display, “Let’s check you out!” Derek feels his cheeks flush, but Stile’s is already backtracking, “I mean, uh, let’s get your stuff. From the check out. Let’s get your stuff checked out.” They get through the line with minimal causalities. Stiles smiles and chatters happily with the attendant, and Derek scuffs his feet and tries not to scowl too noticeably.

Then they’re in the parking lot, and Derek is pulling his keys out of his pocket, glancing around at Stiles who’s still trailing happily behind him. “Uh,” Derek gestures towards his camero,

"Do you want a-”

“Yes!” Stiles interjects, “Yes. I want a ride. I didn’t drive. I walked. All the way here.”

“Okay,” Derek says, clenching his fist so that Stiles can’t see his fingers are shaking. Should he open the door for Stiles? He should open the door for Stiles. Except he still has to put his groceries away, and by the time he shoves all of the bags in the trunk, Stiles has settled himself happily in the passenger seat and is toying with the radio dials and oh my god did Derek leave that Nickleback CD in the car? Better not turn on the radio. Just to be sure. He slides into the driver’s seat, clutching tightly at the wheel. “So,” he grunts, punching the car into reverse, “Where can I take you?”

Stiles grins lazily, “Where are you headed?” he asks, head tilted back against the seat rest. Derek stares at the long stretch of his throat, and nearly collides with a parked car.

“Uh,” he yanks the wheel in the opposite direction, “Back to the house, I guess.”

Stiles ducks his head,

“Sounds good,” he says, and now he’s staring up through his lashes. Derek keeps his eyes locked on the road in front of him, “I’ll go anywhere you want.”

“Perfect,” Derek announces hastily, and takes a dramatic turn out of the parking lot, nearly clipping a passing truck. They fall into an awkward silence as they pull onto the freeway, Stile’s long fingers tapping absently on his thigh. Derek watches his nails scratch at his calf, and then edge dangerously close to the radio dial. “So!” he barks, “How’s Scott?” He isn’t really prepared for the small, shocked smile that spreads across Stile’s face, or the way his eyes grow fond around the edges. Derek stubbornly projects all 23 years of his pent-up rage at Scott McCall, but really, he's met the guy and his rage is somewhat lackluster.

“Good!” Stiles says happily, “He’s good! Having a little trouble juggling the captainship with all his homework, but I’m helping him through pre-calculus and we, uh,” he laughs, shakes his head a little, “We do okay.”

“You’re in the same class then?”

“Oh, nah,” Stiles says, glancing down, “I’m um, in the honors accelerated calculus class. Scottie's doing pre-calc.”

Derek looks at him,

“That’s amazing,” he says seriously, and Stiles rubs a hand across the back of his neck.

“Uh, you know,” he says, “It’s really not as big of a deal as people make it out to. It’s not that impressive. You know, it’s just doing the homework and practicing the problems…”

“It took me two tries to pass calculus.”

“Oh,” Stiles looks up, “Shit! No, I mean, it’s- that’s great, I-”

Derek feels himself smile,

“You’re fine,” he says, “Really, I just want you to know that what you’re doing is important, that’s all, that it’s something to be proud of.”

“Oh.” Derek keeps his hands on the wheel and his eyes on the road, and tries not to think about how pleased Stiles looks at the compliment. He wants to say something else, about how hardworking Stiles it, how Derek thinks he’ll make Alpha house proud, make Derek proud. But then he thinks about Stiles lying with his head in Scott’s lap and the words won’t come. Then they’re pulling into the driveway, and Derek reluctantly shoves the car into park. “This was…. Nice,” he says awkwardly. Stiles is still smiling at him, lips thinning out into a slow smirk.

“Yeah,” he says, voice low, “It was nice.”

Derek waits for him to get out, but Stiles doesn’t move. He just shifts a little in his seat, tilting his head back again and watching Derek. Derek is suddenly painfully aware of how small the cab of the car is, exactly how much space there is between them. He can almost count the freckles on Stile’s eyelids, can trace the line of -

“I have to go!” he says quickly, and practically falls out of the car.

 . . . .

 

“Dude,” Scott answers the phone on the second ring, and Stiles can hear the sounds of the game console going in the background.

“Duuuuude,” he groans, and Scott laughs into the receiver and pauses the game.

“What’s up?” he asks.

Stiles scrubs a hand over the back of his head.

“Uh,” he hedges, scuffing a toe over the pavement, “I… need you to come pick me up.”

He hears something shift over the phone line, and then Scott asks,

“Where are you?"

Stiles glances down,

“Uh,” he says, “Alpha House?” Scott won’t stop laughing.

Scott shows up 15 minutes later, Stile’s helmet hooked over his handle bars. He flips his visor up, grinning knowingly, and Stiles grabs his helmet and ducks his head, blush rising up over his collar.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, “I know.” Scott just keeps smirking, “I know, okay? Ugh.” He works the helmet on over his head, and his voice gets kind of muffled, “He’s just so pretty, okay? And I panicked."

Scott’s voice is fond, “Get on, loser,” he says, and Stiles hops on the back of the bike and crooks his chin over Scott’s shoulder so that their helmets bonk together.

“Tell me you loooove me!” he demands, arms squeezed around Scott’s waist.

Scott huffs,

“I love you!”

He grumbles,

“Even though you are clearly a giant loser.”

Stile’s digs his fingers into Scott’s sides.

“I’m not a loser!” He protests, and Scott wheezes and shoves him off.

“I sent you for milk and you tried to bring home Derek Hale, dude,” he points out, “That was not the kind of grocery you were supposed to be picking up!”

“But he’s so pretty!”

Scott sighs and revs the engine,

“Tells that to the dry cereal we’ll be eating…”

Stiles bonks their helmets together again.

“The jeeps still in the Trader Joe’s parking lot,” he admits, “Take me there and I shall buy you milk!”


	4. Chapter 4

The next day is movie night. Stiles has a cold. He goes anyways. The house is in disarray from finals and there are scribbled notes stuck to the fridge and empty beer cans littering the usually pristine-kitchen. Say what you want about Alpha House but Derek runs a tight ship. Stiles toes at an abandoned pizza box in the livingroom and tilts his head.

“There’s nobody here,” he says, and Scott shakes his head, 

“Upstairs. I can hear the footsteps.”

Stiles makes a face

“Ugh,” he says, “you and your superhuman hearing. My ears are all clogged from this cold.”  
Scott coos and pets his head accordingly.

“Baby,” he murmurs, and Stiles snuggles closer under his hand.

“I know,” he says, “I’m pitiful. Pity me.”

Scott smirks, glancing towards the pipe lying on the coffee table. 

“I have a better idea.”

Stiles’ eyes light up. Then he gets a soft, sad look on his face and shakes his head. 

“I can’t,” he says, “It’s gonna be too rough on my throat.” 

Scott sighs, sliding onto the couch.

“These are the saddest of days my friend,” he says, neatly packing a bowl from the prescription bottle in his backpack. Stiles eyes him appreciatively. 

“Dude,” he says, “You should major in that.”

Scott sighs, 

“Tell me about it. If we could explain it to my mother, I would in a heartbeat.” 

Scott flicks the lighter and the bowl glows red for a second as he inhales, fading out as he exhales a thin curl of smoke. Stiles watches with envy. 

 

“Dude,” he says, “shot-gun me.”

Scott frowns.

“But you’re sick,” he says, “and then I’ll be sick and Isaac and I have a date coming up so-”

“You have a date with Isaac? Bro- why didn’t you-”

“Well,” Scott back tracks, “Allison and I have a date with Isaac. But whatever. It still counts. You and your sick germs will not vanquish the love that has yet to be.”

Stiles makes a pleading face, 

“Scottie,” he says, “Buddy, pal- I cannot. Repeat. Cannot do this sober. I told you about the grocery store. It was a disaster. Please. Please help me out.”

Scott sighs,

“Your throat can’t hurt that much…” he reasons, and Stiles makes a plaintiff face at him until he sighs and grabs the pipe and starts fishing around for the lighter.

“Fine.” he says, “fine fine fine but if Allison gets action and I don’t because of your lousy cold than you, mark my words Stiles Stillinski, will hear about it until we’re both in hell.”

Stiles salutes, 

“I will think healthy thoughts,” he promises, “you’re just like my mama bird- cheep cheep!”

Derek enters the room just in time to see Scott blowing past Stiles's lips. 

“Uh,” he says. Stiles jerks around. 

“Hey!” he says, “we didn’t hear you come in!”

Scott is taking his own hit now.

“I heard him come in,” he says, “Just because nature has forsaken you doesn’t mean it’s targeting the rest of us.”

Stiles sticks out his tough.

“I will spit in your drink, pal,” he says, “tell Isaac and Allison to have a lovely time without you.”

Derek looks at them both for a long second. 

“Your love is weird.” he says finally, and goes to sit on the sofa a few feet away from them. Stiles edges delicately closer. 

“It’s not weird” he protests, “it’s just- okay it’s weird. I’m weird. Give me a second.”

Derek makes a point of looking away from the scene taking place beside him, and tries very hard not to hear whatever sounds Stiles may be making around Scott’s mouth. It sounds like… cheaping? What? 

“Here,” Scott says, knocking his shoulder into a giggling Stiles, “Do you want-” and Derek decides that this is a great time not to be sober.

“Yeah.” Derek takes the pipe and the lighter and bends his head down and when he looks up Stiles is staring at him a little slack-jawed and Derek does maybe the stupidest thing he’s done in quite a long time of stupid things because he tilts his head a little and leans in and then Stiles is leaning in and their mouths are close together, spilling smoke. 

It isn’t a real kiss. It isn’t even really a shot-gun because Derek’s lips barely brush Stiles’s before Stiles is pulling away, looking absolutely horrified and Derek’s hear plunges into his chest. 

“Shit,” he says, “I’m sorry. I thought-”

Just as Stiles says, 

“I’m sick.” 

And Scott says,

“Move time!”

Derek winces. Scott presses play. What follows may be the most uncomfortable two and a half hours of Derek’s entire life. He doesn’t know whether or not to get up and leave or to apologize again, and so settles for throwing rather nervous, anxious looks at Stiles whenever he thinks that Stiles might not be looking. Except Stiles is always looking. He’s looking right up until Scott elbows him in the ribs and tells him dude you’re missing it which is when Stiles, horrors upon horrors, just kind of lets out this long, massive sigh, cuddles up against Scott, and promptly falls asleep. Derek and Scott share a weary look above his sleeping head. 

After a moment Scott goes, 

“He really likes you, you know.” and Derek’s heart jump in his chest.

“I-” he begins, and Stiles moans something in his sleep and nearly flops off of the sofa. Scott catches him by the shoulders and heaves him back into place saying, 

“He’s always slept like this,” soft, “used to drive his mother crazy. But then, you know, most things Stiles does drive his mother crazy. In fact most things Stiles does drive most people crazy but you get the idea.”

Derek aches. 

“You’ve been together a long time,” he says, and Scott shrugs like it’s nothing.

“About a decade,” he says, “you get used to it.”

“You’re lucky,” Derek tells him, and Scott gives him this weird look. 

“You really don’t get it?” he says, “Do you?”

“I-”

Scott raises his hands, 

“You know what? None of my business. Hey, aren’t hobbits great?” 

Derek turns back towards the movie. Stiles snores.


	5. Chapter 5

Derek has a headache. He’s had a headache for two days, eight hours, and approximately 37 minutes. He’s had a headache ever since the fight. It had started over something stupid. It always started over something stupid. This time it was whether or not Boyd or Erika were the better bowler and they had somehow ended up exchanging blows at 2am in the fucking kitchen. Derek was tired. He was also extremely, incredibly so totally over Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski.  


Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski who apparently can’t do anything with their lives except hang around Alpha house and show the world how totally and completely head over stupid heels they are for each other. Twenty four fucking seven. Derek needs a nap. He also needs a shot of something. Preferably whiskey. Or a fist fight.  


He goes as long as he can without seeing Stiles. But the house really isn’t as big as it could be, and he’s bound to run into him sometime. Sometime turns out to be Tuesday night, when Derek has a headache and a paper due at 6am the next morning. Stiles is sitting on the steps to the house when Derek gets back from an impromptu snack run, listening to something on his I-pod with a serious expression on his face.

“Hey,” he says, “sorry I totally bailed on movie night. Sickness always makes me sleepy.”

Derek doesn’t look at him.

“Sorry about the shot-gun,” he says.

Stiles blushes,

“Yeah,” he says, “maybe next time I’ll let you do it right.”

Derek gives him a look,

“Maybe you should,” he says “what about Scott?”

Stiles skips a little

“Not sick!” he says, “He and Isaac get to go out after all.”

Derek stares at him.

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

Stiles sighs,

“I mean it’s Isaac,” he says, as if this is somehow an explanation in itself, “And it does cut into our Saturday night movie time but he’s happy, I’m happy, you know?”

Derek bites his lip

“You’re not jealous?” he asks

Stiles steps closer,

“I mean,” he says softly, “I’m a little jealous.”

Derek clears his throat. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Stiles’s face falls.

“That’s okay,” he says, “you don’t have to- I mean there isn’t anything for you to be- I just. It’s fine.”

Derek nods,

“Okay,” he says, “But you don’t have to pretend. I know how you feel about Scott.”

Stiles blinks.

“Who’s talking about Scott?”

Derek sighs,

“You are. Most of the time. No offense.”

Stiles frowns.

“He’s my best friend,” he says, “and we-”

“Love each other unconditionally, I know.”

“Yeah but-”

“Look,” Derek palms at his neck, “forget it, okay? I have a paper I’m supposed to be working on and I really can’t take another round of this tonight” and then he turns away from Stiles and the confused, slightly hurt look on his face, “Scott should be back soon so you shouldn’t have to wait for him for too much longer.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Dude.” Stiles says, “He thinks we’re dating.”

Scott doesn’t look up from the tv. 

“Everyone thinks we’re dating,” he says, “I’m missing my show.”

Stiles steps in front of the screen.

“Not everyone,” he says, “Derek. Derek thinks we’re dating.”

Scott sighs, 

“So what’d you tell him?”

Stiles runs a hand back through his hair.

“I didn’t tell him anything!” he says, “I barely had time to catch up with what he was saying before he walked into the house.”

Scott frowns, 

“So what was he saying?”

Stiles sighs.

“He said I was always talking about you,” he pouts, “That I was waiting for you at Alpha house, it was horrible. I was only there to see him. You know I never forget our non-couples couples night.”

Scott smiles,

“Of course.” he says, “like I’d ever keep you waiting anywhere.” 

Lydia walks in on them shooting dopey grins at each other.

“Ughh,” she says, “you two are the worst. Get a room already.”

Scott frowns at her. Stiles tries not to moon too obviously. Lydia Martin, goddess of his heart as she is, chomps down on a carrot stick like it’s done something to personally offend her.

“Why are you even here? Scott asks her, and she flips her hair over one sim shoulder.

“I’m waiting for Allison,” she says “Unlike *some* of us we don’t have each other’s schedules written our our walls in glitter gel pen, so I’m stuck . Plus, I was hanging out with Laura. She’s very bendy, in case you were wondering.”

Stiles pulls a face.

“Gross,” he says, just as Scott objects, 

“We do not have each other’s schedules on our walls.” 

“Bitch, please,” Stiles agrees, “I’ve got that shit memorized. And when did you start gracing the spawn of Satan with your presence, such as it is.”

Lydia smirks at him,

“Since she taught me the alphabet at that last party.” she says, “Nice keg stand, by the way.”

Stiles glares at her. Scott puts his hands over his ears, and hums a few choruses of la la la la la until the image of Lydia and Laura has successfully filtered out of his brain.

Lydia’s smile widens,

“So what’s this about Derek?”

Stiles sighs,

“He hates me,” he moans dramatically, flopping over the arm of the couch. Scott pets his head.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Scott objects, “just talk to him. Tell him the truth.”

Stiles nuzzles closer under Scott’s hand.

“I don’t wanna.”

“Stiles.”

“He’s just going to reject me, Scott, I can’t.”

Scott strokes at his forehead.

“You can,” he says, “I believe in you.”


	7. Chapter 7

The party is loud. Too loud for the early evening and too loud for Derek. Seriously. They have to stop hosting these things. Half the lacrosse team is already horribly, exuberantly drunk, and the house is full of lights and music and and laughing students. Derek really, really wants to go to bed. It doesn’t help that he failed his trig test, doesn’t help that Lydia is, once again, staring across the room at Scott and Stiles. Scott and Stiles who are playing a drunken round of beer pong that includes matching celebratory victory dances and swooning into each other’s arms whenever they make a shot.

“Ugh,” she says, “Can’t they just like, not?”

Derek glares at her.

“You know,” he say, “If you could just like, hide the blatant bigotry for like 2.5 seconds, that would be great.”

Lydia glances over at him, 

“What?” she asks, and Derek rolls his eyes.

“Look,” he says, “I get it, you’re entitled to your views. But Alpha house is a Safe Space. We all did the training. We have the fricken stickers to prove it, and you can’t just-” 

“Listen, asshole.” Lydia tells him, “I give about as many flying fucks as the monkeys in the wizard of oz, but in case you’re wondering, I’m actually not a huge, homophobic asshole.

And then she turns and sticks her tongue down Laura’s throat for emphasis. Laura does not seem to mind. Huh. 

“Okay, but aren’t you-”

Lydia finishes kissing her girlfriend.

“They’re not gay for eachother, dumb ass,” she says, “They’re just gay in general. I’m a lesbian. I’m allowed to use it like that.”

“But Jackson-”

“Clearly has to have a talk with you about trans identities, Mr. Safe Space. Get out of my face and go crawl into a hole somewhere. God knows Stilinski would love the chance to soothe your wounded, manly pride. In fact,” Lydia raises her voice over the pounding thrum of the music, “Stilinski! Stop making eyes at Scott and get the fuck over here before I burn this house down!” and Derek watches in horror as Stiles untangles himself from Scott and kind of awkwardly stumbles his way over to the. Derek glares at Lydia. Lydia smirks at Derek. Stiles raises a hand.

“Um, hi,” he says, “what’d you-”

“My,” Lydia drawls, “Is that Allision? Well golly it’s been absolutely *ages* since we caught up,” and then she turns and swans across the room. Derek gives Stiles an apologetic look. 

“Hey,” he says, “you didn’t have to- I mean, Lydia’s just- you should go back to your game. Really. Scott’s waiting.”

“Uh,” Stiles says, glancing over his shoulder, “I think Scott may actually have something else on his mind.”

Derek looks towards the spot across the room where Isaac and Allison have commandeered the beer-pong table for an impromptu make-out session, and where Scott is staring at them with an avid, dazed expression on his face.

“Oh,” says Derek, “So, uh, how’s the party?” 

Stiles stares at him, 

“Look,” he says, before Derek has a chance to open his mouth, “I’m done being coy. Scott and I? Not dating. You and I? Totally something I want to investigate. Right now. With my mouth.”

Derek stares at him, 

“You have matching sweaters,” he says weakly, “I’ve seen you share a toothbrush how-”

Stiles rolls his eyes, 

“Yes,” he says, “I’ll admit, we are sickeningly co-dependent and probably need to invest more in personal hygiene supplies. But that doesn’t make us a couple.” 

“Stiles,” Derek says, “you pout when the bottle *doesn’t* land on him at party games.”

Stiles huffs, 

“Listen man,” he says, “It’s not my fault that Scott has the softest lips in town but he and I? Zero chemistry.”

“You once volunteered for seven minutes in heaven,” Derek protests, “I swear Lydia was about to pick someone, you shouted “I volunteer as tribute!” and then practically shoved Scott into the closet.”

“-and,” Stiles interjects, “they turned out to be the most stressful, *least* sexy minutes of my entire life. Trust me.”

“You have the names of your future children picked out. You once called him Sweetheart for handing you a glass of water. You-” 

And Stiles does the only thing he can think of to shut him up. He investigates the situation between himself and Derek. With his mouth. After a moment, Derek pulls away from the kiss, looking slightly dazed.

“Seriously,” he asks, “you and Scott?”

“Clearly need better boundaries.”

“You need better boundaries,” Scott retorts. Stiles looks over Derek’s shoulder where Scott is holding both Allison and Isaac’s hands and sticks his tongue out at him.

“I will fight you, McCall,” he warns, “don’t test me.”

Allison smoothes her free hand through her hair.

“Stiles, baby,” she says, “The last time you fought Scott you gave him a bloody nose and cried for three hours.”

Stiles pulls a face. 

“He was *bleeding* Allison, how was I supposed to feel?”

Allison laughs, 

“I feel like we might be getting slightly off-topic.”

“Right,” Stiles says brightly, swinging around to grin dangerously at Derek, “why don’t you show me your closet.”

“Fine,” Derek tells him, “I volunteer as tribute.”


End file.
